


Rule Number Two

by Elizabethtudor



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6896758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabethtudor/pseuds/Elizabethtudor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flint teaches Silver sword fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule Number Two

When Silver first expressed a desire to learn swordplay, Flint thought it a trick. After all, Silver had been quietly slipping in more and more jokes into their conversations throughout the past few weeks. The more they talked, the more Flint could sense the words morphing on his tongue as they created a language that only they could understand, one composed of brief pauses, shifts in tone, and secret glances. Despite all of this, Flint still felt slightly out of synch with Silver, as if there was still something lingering between them, longing to be exposed. Waiting now at the top of the sand dune for Silver, Flint felt it more acutely. There was something raw beneath the surface of their relationship and it was hungry. 

As quick as the thought entered his head, it left as Silver appeared at the edge of the dune, each of his steps carefully balanced on his crutch. Flint had seen injuries like Silver’s before, but nothing provoked the same amount of anger within him that Silver’s did. Sometimes in his blackest days, Flint imagined all the horrible fates he would have inflicted on those men if he had been there. He watched as Silver cautiously made his way up to the flat top of the dune, his face only barely masking the pain he felt. Once he reached the top, Silver sat down, casting aside his crutch. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face and damped his hair which had been tied into a ponytail. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit for a while. Walking this far on sand proved to be a lot harder than I anticipated.” Silver remarked. “Although I do appreciate that you picked a secluded area as it means there are less people to embarrass myself around. But I do think the crew will be disappointed when they find out the show their captain has deprived them of.” 

Flint shrugged. “They’ll get over it soon enough.” He hadn’t considered the crew when he chose the location. Instead, he only thought of Silver and his own desire to be alone with him. Flint suddenly became desperate to change the subject. “You brought a sword,” he said, gesturing towards the sword that Silver had discarded carelessly in the sand, a tiny plain thing.

“Billy loaned it to me,” Silver replied. “He said he took it off a child in the last raid. I can’t decide whether it is an insult or a compliment.”

Flint snorted. Knowing Billy, it was probably the former. Sometimes he caught Billy staring at them when they were deep in conversation, the expression on his face unreadable. It was in those moments that Flint was hyper-aware of his body and how close it was to Silver’s. He always thought he was gifted at deception, but he never quite got the hang of fooling Billy. 

“Well you’re here now,” Flint said as he sat down beside Silver. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Now it was Silver’s turn to shrug. “I suppose so,” he said. “You know this is not really my area of expertise.” As he spoke, he brushed aside a single curl that had slipped out of his ponytail. God, Silver’s hair infuriated Flint. The desire to run his hands through that mess of curls was overwhelming. 

“I know,” Flint replied, “Your words are your weapon. I’ve seen what you can do with them. But it takes more than great speeches to rule.”

“I didn’t ask to be king,” Silver said as he cast his eyes down upon the sand. This was not the first time they had this conversation.

“No one does,” Flint replied. “But the people follow you anyways.”

With that, Flint stood up and raised his sword with one hand. The other, he extended to Silver. “Let’s begin.”

Flint carefully analyzed Silver’s stance as he picked up the sword Billy had given him. Silver really had come so far since he first lost the leg. But the people Silver would be fighting wouldn’t notice the progress he had made concealing the injury. Instead, they would be looking for the first opportunity to take advantage of it. 

“The first thing a good swordsman does is look for possible weaknesses to exploit. Rule number one: know your limits,” Flint instructed.

Silver grimaced. “I was afraid you would say that.”

“You’re lucky,” Flint said, his tone slightly softer this time. “You come into battle knowing what your weakness is. Most men hide from their weaknesses. You face yours.”

“Yes,” Silver replied sarcastically, “That’s what I think of when I wake up every morning, how fucking lucky I am that my leg is gone.”

“It’s important to be aware of your weaknesses,” Flint said, ignoring Silver. There was no talking him down when he got like that. “But by focusing on too closely on your own shortcomings, you’ll forget to look for your opponent’s. Rule number two: find your opponent’s weakness and use it against them.”

“And what exactly is your weakness, Captain Flint?” 

_You,_ Flint wanted to say. _It’s always been you._ Instead, he replied: “Now why would I tell you that when you could find out for yourself?” 

Silver barely had time to react before their swords clashed against each other. Flint smiled. Oh god, he missed fighting. “Rule three,” he said as their swords touched again. “Always be alert. Even in an official duel, you never know when the enemy will attack.”

“That’s a lot of rules,” Silver replied. “How am I supposed to remember them all?”

“It’s only really rule number four that you need to worry about,” Flint said as he aimed his sword at Silver’s peg leg. With a single swipe, Flint had Silver on his back and his sword upon Silver’s chest.

“And what’s that?” Silver asked, his voice panting from exertion. 

“Don’t die,” Flint replied.

Silver smiled as he found his way back on his feet. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Shall we try again?”

Flint had always prided himself on his swordplay. It was different than fighting with your hands or with a gun; fighting with a sword required a perfect balance of precision and strategy. As he knocked Silver down again and again, he watched as Silver’s eyes lit up the very way his must have all those years ago when he was first learning how to fight all those years ago. If he had time, Flint would have mourned that little boy who had long since been lost. But Silver was a quick learner. Soon it became harder and harder to surprise him. He countered Flint’s attacks with his own, each as wildly unpredictable as the man himself. Finally, Flint slipped up. He forgot to check his surroundings as he was moved about dodging Silver’s attacks. Soon, he found himself standing on the edge of the dune with Silver’s sword arcing against his wrist. With a yelp, he dropped his sword and felt the tip of Silver’s sword come up to his chest. 

“Yield,” Silver said, a smirk dotting his face. Flint could tell he’d been longing to say those words for most of the afternoon.

“Well played,” Flint said as Silver put down his sword. “Of course, those were only elementary moves I was using on you.”

“Of course they were,” Silver said. 

“Stop smiling.”

“I will when you do.”

Flint was smiling despite himself. He hadn’t even noticed until Silver pointed it out. For the first time, Silver extended his hand out to Flint. As Flint took it, he thought of all the times since Silver lost his leg that he had offered a hand. Despite all those times, Silver had never extended the same courtesy. He felt the weight of such an action as he took the hand, feeling the shock of callused skin against his own. As Silver pulled him closer, Flint was suddenly acutely aware of his body and how close it was to Silver’s. They both were still breathing heavily, but Flint wasn’t sure it was just the swordplay that had caused it. 

He broke off contact first, stepping aside and letting his hand drop. “Thank you,” he whispered, not sure exactly what it was he was thanking Silver for. He then turned away and began gathering together the various items he had strewn across the dune, not daring to glance at Silver. Even he was not that bold. 

When he finished, he looked up, and was surprised to still see Silver standing there. “Well, that wasn’t so bad was it? You’ve gotten quite deadly in the time I’ve known you,” Flint said, each word carefully calculated although his breathing was still slightly hitched. “If I didn’t know better, I might be afraid of you.”

Silver smirked. “That is if you weren’t the dreaded Captain Flint whose name strikes fear into the heart of women and children throughout England and the colonies?” There was a hint of teasing in Silver’s tone. 

Flint wasn’t sure how to reply to that. For just a brief moment out there with Silver, he had forgotten about Captain Flint and the weight that name carried. For a single breath of time, he had been free. Not quite James McGraw but not quite Captain Flint either. Once he was alerted to its absence, Flint immediately missed that feeling. _Rule number two: find your opponent’s weakness and use it against them._ It was only a matter of time until Silver found out his. He tried not to think of what might happen then. He touched the sword hanging from his belt and let the silence engulf them.  


As if sensing the change in tone, Silver spoke. “I think it’s time I take my leave. Until next time, Captain Flint,” Silver said, his eyes alight as he looked into Flint’s.

James, Flint longed to say. My name is James. It had been so long since he had heard that name out loud. He wanted to hear it on Silver’s smooth tongue, steal it back from his lips. He wanted to hear it in Silver’s hitched breaths, and in the hungry glances they would share before crashing into each other. He so desperately needed Silver to make it real, to make him real, and to release him from the burden that was Captain Flint. He could feel himself succumbing to the desire, his careful walls eroding away. This was him at his most dangerous. He had already given Silver his darkest secret; he had so much and so little to lose, and Silver, damned Silver, made him want to risk it all. He allowed himself one more second of imagining the feeling of Silver’s lips on his own before he broke eye contact and walked away in the opposite direction to Silver. 

For James McGraw had died a long time ago, and not even Long John Silver, whose voice ignited rebellions and lingered in all of Flint’s dreams, could bring him back.


End file.
